Being a bookish guy, I’m not much into
physical activities. But walking on pilgrimages seems to add a different
dimension of physicality and I’m able to surpass my individual capacity and
surprise my own humble self sometimes.
I share a special bond with my brother
and we are here at Rishikesh at the yearend to say a bye of gratitude to the
year going out and greet the new year with hope in the lap of mother Ganga. We
bathe in Maa Gnaga’s holy waters
early in the morning and start on the foot track to the holy shrine of Baba
Neekanth. The track passes through verdant Shivalik hills of Rajaji National
Park. It’s fresh and rejuvenating. At the grossest level it’s a nice exercise
for one’s legs and lungs. For those who are looking for the nutrition of their
souls, the names of Maa Ganga and
Baba Neelkanth do the task naturally.
We go on day one and return pretty
joyfully in the evening. The next day we again take an early morning bath in
the holy water of Ganga Maa and
suddenly feel so reinvigorated as to start walking again to the holy shrine.
The same happens on the third day. And before we realize we have walked to the
holy place on three consecutive days. Our schedule didn’t allow us to continue
the walk on the fourth day, otherwise I believe I would have continued for
maybe a week at least. Bathing in Maa Ganga’s
sacred waters cleanses one of age-old sins. So getting one free of tiredness
and fatigue is a mere cakewalk for the divine waters.
Each day, an old woman would greet us
from a distance during the last stretch of the track to Baba Neelkanth. This is
the offseason for the pilgrimage and very few people hit the track. She peers
into the distances to spot some odd pilgrim. She is an old woman beaten by
poverty, age, circumstances. Almost beaten by life and its leela, she has a pleading voice. It strikes you. Her helplessness
and disadvantaged situation acting like a speed-bump, pulling at your
conscience, forcing you to slow down, look at her. And that sometimes forces a
few pilgrims to take out a coin or a ten-rupee note and offer it to her.
On the way up, the first day, we have
given her ten rupees. She would continue showering blessings at your back as
you walk away. I heard her till the next bend and waved and looked back a few
times. On the way back, she again accosts us as fresh pilgrims. ‘Tai, you can see I know. We already met
on the way up!’ I laugh. ‘Yes son, I know. But beta I have to ask from you even on the way down because I have
collected too little money,’ she tells us very honestly. We give her a little
money again.
It gets repeated on the second day as
well. Somehow I felt very easy with her and talked and joked and she laughed.
On the third day, December 31, we decide to give her hundred rupees as a new
year gift. And what does a tiny currency note mean as a gift if you don’t sit
by that person and have a word of empathy and kindness? So today we sit by her
and offer her the gift money.
Then the spontaneity of those somber,
kind, holy moments created a simple reality of human-to-human connect. Its real
significance would strike me later and it does even now with a powerful effect.
As we held her hands and offered her the new year gift with kind words of
happiness and joy in the new year, the check-dam of her age-old emotions burst
out. She started crying. These were the tears of pain, happiness, suffering,
hope. All mixed in one. She seemed a little baby crying for affection, for
sympathetic human touch. My brother is a spiritualist in practice. I have a
very high regard for his genuine values that he keeps on the practical platform
of life. But what he does now even stumps me. I see him putting both his hands
on her head, affectionately covering her head. He touches her like a father,
like a son, almost like a god.
Her lifelong pains melt. She flows.
She cries profusely. I have no doubt that ours happens to be the first human
touch of love, respect and dignity in her entire life. Her soul felt it. Asa poor
begging woman, the best she can expect from the people is some charity money
even from the kindest of souls. I felt she wasn’t prepared for this warm,
genuine human touch. The way she gave into it seemed as if it was her first
experience that made her realize she was also a human being. She is also
something above and beyond a beggar. I know there are people who would throw a
thick wad of money even without taking care to notice how did she look. But
will that enrich her soul the way this touch did?
We move onto the holy shrine of Lord
Neelkanth. She is still crying with love and gratitude for that human touch and
we can hear her blessings till the next turn. On the way back, I can feel that
she is peering into the distance to see us. As we reach her she greets us with
a cheerful demeanor and smiles. As we sit by her to have some more chat, the
sweetest fruits of human touch and kind words drop like a blessing on us. She
opens her soiled, torn cloth bag and takes out the treasure of human love. We
get the best new year gifts by a devi.
In our absence, she had hastened to a nearby path-side tea seller and bought
gifts for us. She gives us our gifts like a kindest mother. It’s a packet of Kurkure crunchies and a small packet of
biscuits. We are the richest people in the world. I’m not a fan of crunchies but
this one I would relish like a little kid. After all it’s a gift by a mother.
Did our few ten-rupee notes and one
one-hundred note open this lottery of human affection? No. Money is too small
to buy human empathy and love. It was the human touch and kind words. Touch the
closed stony gates of a poor human and see what treasures topple out, the
treasures that would have withered and died unseen if not for your soft touch.
We feel so indebted for the priceless
gift that we offer her some more money and she takes it with confidence and
faith like a mother receives her well-deserved share from her sons. She is very
happy and points to her tattered sari
and says she will buy a new one with this money.
As we get up to go and express our
hope to see her again sometime in the new year, she starts crying again and says
who knows she may not be alive by that time. Through tears she says that her
life might be over before we come again on this path. I can feel that she would
very much like to meet us—for that human touch. Thankfully there are enough
kind souls who would at least give a bit of money which is also necessary for
survival in this world. But how I wish there were more people who provide human
touch as well, a touch that reminds a poor person that she also is a human
being.
We moved slowly on our path, her
blessings showering like rose petals from behind. It was a sad feeling, somehow; leaving
someone behind with sad tears—even if these are of gratitude and love—is too
much for a poetic man like me. I looked back a few times and waved and she
waved in reply. At the bend on the path I turned again, had a glimpse of her
waving hand, heard a feeble reverberation of her blessings and moved on with
the hope that she will be there when I return sometime in future.
